Territorial Politics in Soeharta

Proliferating provinces: territorial
politics in post-Suharto Indonesia
Ehito Kimura
Abstract: What explains the recent internal territorial changes in
the Indonesian archipelago? Given the relatively constant number
of provinces and districts during the New Order period, the sudden
rise of new districts and provinces in post-authoritarian Indonesia
is puzzling. This article argues that the phenomenon is driven by
multilevel alliances across different territorial administrative levels,
or territorial coalitions. It suggests that national level institutional
changes explain the timing of provincial proliferation and that the
triggers can vary, depending on historical and cultural contexts.
Keywords: democratization; decentralization; regionalism; territo-
rial coalitions; Indonesia
Author details: Ehito Kimura is Assistant Professor in the Department
of Political Science, University of Hawai’i at Manoa, Saunders Hall
Room 608, 2424 Maile Way, Honolulu, HI 96822, USA. E-mail:
ehito@hawaii.edu.
Out of Indonesia’s political upheaval in the late 1990s rose the spectre
of its territorial collapse. The Soviet Union and Yugoslavia had each
splintered earlier in the decade, and observers in 1999 often referred to
the prospect of Indonesia’s ‘balkanization’.1 Experts and pundits alike
cautioned that transition and political reform could weaken the state,
embolden the regions and lead to a domino effect beginning with the
breakaway of East Timor, followed by a fragmentation of the archi-
pelago into a dozen or so states.
Of course, Indonesia survived and has remained largely intact. East
Timor gained independence in 1999, but the archipelago did not splinter
1
For example, see Leon Hadar (2000), ‘Averting a “new Kosovo” in Indonesia. Op-
portunities and pitfalls for the United States’, Policy Analysis, 9 March, Cato Institute,
Washington, DC; and John Bolton (1999), ‘Indonesia: Asia’s Yugoslavia’, Far East-
ern Economic Review, 1 April.
South East Asia Research, 18, 3, pp 415–449 doi: 10.5367/sear.2010.0005
416 South East Asia Research
the way many had feared. However, Indonesia’s political transition did
spur on a territorial shuffle of another, less expected kind. Instead of
external fragmentation and collapse, Indonesia has been experiencing an
internal fission in which provinces and districts are being divided into
ever smaller units, resulting in the proliferation of new subnational units.
Why has Indonesia fragmented in this manner and what does it tell
us about contemporary politics in that country? This article argues that
despite the seeming free-for-all, there is an internal logic to today’s
territorial changes. Instead of focusing exclusively on national level
politics or local level demands, this article shows how national, re-
gional and local levels are linked through webs of networks and alliances
– what I call territorial coalitions. These coalitions help us to under-
stand the redrawing of boundaries, the emergence of new provinces
and the changing patterns of regional politics in Indonesia more broadly.
The next section defines the scope of the problem in more detail,
highlighting the features of territorial change and its comparative ele-
ments. It then shows how democratization and decentralization
implemented in the post-Suharto era can explain the timing of territo-
rial change and the way it formed political coalitions. Three case studies
that follow reveal how broad processes of democratization and decen-
tralization affected the regions in significantly different ways and how
that reveals distinct paths to new province formation. The article con-
cludes by reflecting on the importance of territorial coalitions and
implications for understanding regional politics in Indonesia.
Proliferating provinces
The process of territorial change occurring in Indonesia today, dubbed
pemekaran wilayah [regional blossoming] or pembentukan daerah [new
region formation] refers to the splitting or dividing up of provinces,
districts and subdistricts into multiple new territorial units. Since 1999,
the number of provinces in Indonesia has grown from 26 to 33 (see
Table 1) and the number of districts from 290 to roughly 500,
reconfiguring the political territorial map of Indonesia.2
2
Close observers of Indonesia will note that this study focuses on the provincial level,
while much of the power has been decentralized to the district level. Certainly, dis-
tricts are the main units of autonomy in Indonesia today. But this study focuses on
new province formation because that can capture both provincial level and district
level politics, since the new province aspirants are usually districts or groups of
districts. This then raises the question of why districts would want to become prov-
inces in the first place, and here the answer is that provinces are still important. They
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 417
Table 1. Laws establishing new provinces.
West Irian Law No 45 1999 and UU No 5 2000
North Maluku Law No 46 1999 and UU No 6 2000
Banten Law No 23 2000
Bangka-Belitung Law No 27 2000
Gorontalo Law No 38 2000
Riau Islands Law No 25 2002
West Sulawesi Law No 26 2004
This process of territorial change can be distinguished from two re-
lated phenomena. First, this is not a proliferation of regions that results
from conquest or other forms of territorial acquisition. The number of
states in the USA, for example, has risen from the original 13 to the
present-day 50, but most of the increase is accounted for by westward
expansion and territorial acquisition. In Indonesia, the incorporation
of Western Papua in 1961 and East Timor in 1975 technically repre-
sents a territorial change, but their annexation falls outside the realm
of this study because they were added through expansion rather than
internal change.
Second, regional proliferation is distinct from the practice of gerry-
mandering. Gerrymandering refers to the redrawing of political
boundaries for electoral benefit. While there is an electoral component
to regional proliferation, gerrymandering does not imply an aggregate
increase in the number of regional or local territorial administrative
units. In fact, the assumption behind gerrymandering is that the number
of electoral districts stays constant, while their shape, size and compo-
sition may change, sometimes drastically.
Although regional proliferation may seem like a relatively narrow
scope of inquiry, the phenomenon is not unique to Indonesia. In South
East Asia, countries such as Vietnam and the Philippines have also
experienced a similar jump in the number of new provinces. Malesky,
for example, argues that new provinces in Vietnam are emerging as a
result of conflict between conservatives and reformers in the national
legislature.3 Stuligross sees the creation of new states in India as a way
have historically been the main level of identity for ethnic groups (as opposed to
districts) and it was in fact the potential threat of strong provinces that led the gov-
ernment to devolve power to the district level. Furthermore, despite the lack of official
power, provinces are still located in urban centres, whereas districts are smaller and
can often be located in backwaters.
3
Edmund Malesky (2005), ‘Gerrymandering – Vietnamese style: the political
motivations behind the creation of new provinces in Vietnam, Midwest Political
Science Association 63rd Annual Conference, Chicago, IL.
418 South East Asia Research
that national parties can court new constituents in an effort to gain
legislative advantage at the national level.4 Kraxberger elaborates on
identity-based factors that led to the creation of new states in Nigeria,
which he refers to as ‘subnational citizenship containers’.5
In Indonesia, new districts and provinces appeared in a number of
‘waves’ from 1998, when there were 292 districts, to 2004, when there
were 434.6 Most of the new provinces (West Irian Jaya, North Maluku,
Banten, Bangka-Belitung, Gorontalo, West Sulawesi) were approved
in 2000. Riau Islands province was approved two years later in 2002.
Most recently, West Sulawesi province was approved in 2004. All of
these initiatives for new provinces emerged in 1998 and 1999 and sev-
eral others still remain shelved in the legislature.
While several scholars have written about the phenomenon both at
the district and provincial level, much of the emphasis in these narra-
tives is on how local elites essentially co-opted new institutional reforms
for their own benefit at the local level.7 Others have highlighted the
enormously contentious aspects of these splits.8 This article agrees with
recent work that highlights the starkly political nature of the phenom-
enon, but argues for a broader perspective in understanding it. New
territorial struggles go beyond local elite contestation and ‘horizontal’
struggles for power in decentralized Indonesia. They also indicate new
‘vertical’ linkages or alliances that span local, regional and national
levels. The comparative cases highlight the inner workings of these
alliances across different historical and regional contexts.
Territorial coalitions
Regional proliferation, I argue, is not the product of a single actor group,
4
David Stuligross (2001), A Piece of Land to Call One’s Own: Multicultural Federal-
ism and Institutional Innovation in India, University of California, Berkeley, CA.
5
Brennan Michael Kraxberger (2003), Regional Strategies and Shifting Boundaries:
New State Creation in Nigeria, University of Iowa, Iowa City.
6
Fitria Fitrani, Bert Hofman, and Kai Kaiser (2005), ‘Unity in diversity? The creation
of new local governments in a decentralizing Indonesia’, Bulletin of Indonesian Eco-
nomic Studies, Vol 41, No 1, p 63.
7
See Deasy Simandjuntak (2009), The Quest for a Territory of their Own: Ethnic
Moblization and the Making of a New Province in Sumatra, Indonesia, ASSR Work-
ing Paper Series, School for Social Science Research, University of Amsterdam,
Amsterdam; and Dik Roth (2007), ‘Many governors, no province’, in H. S. Nordholt,
and G. A. van Klinken, eds, Renegotiating Boundaries: Local Politics in Post-Soeharto
Indonesia, KITLV Press, Leiden, pp 121–147.
8
Roth, supra note 7; Gerry van Klinken (2001), ‘The Maluku wars: bringing society
back in’, Indonesia, Vol 71, pp 1–26.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 419
but rather a collaborative effort among individuals and groups at mul-
tiple territorial levels. In other words, there is a coalitional politics that
is taking place. This is in stark contrast to the way we normally think
about territorial movements. Usually, we consider these movements to
be conflictual, seeking to break away or gain more autonomy from the
central state. In the context of provincial proliferation, I argue that the
regional movements are not separatist, but rather ‘integrationist’: that
is to say, reifying the larger Indonesian nation-state rather than chal-
lenging it.
Coalitions are typically defined as groups of individuals and organi-
zations that work together towards a common goal. The concept has
been used to analyse politics in a variety of settings. The field of legis-
lative politics, for example, has explored how coalitions between political
parties emerge and their implications for political outcomes.9 Coali-
tions between classes have been studied as a major force for political
change.10 And political economists have explained outcomes such as
open or closed economic policies or the rise of the welfare state as
resulting from different kinds of sectoral coalitions.11 This field is also
methodologically diverse, ranging from qualitative to quantitative to
game-theoretic approaches.
The coalitions referred to in this study are territorial in character.
They span different levels of territorial administration and in the proc-
ess embody both the hierarchy and the different power relations
embedded in that structure. While scholars typically highlight cross-
class or cross-sectoral coalitions, territorial coalitions illustrate how
alliances often cut across these groups. The main actors in such coali-
tions in the Indonesian context include local civil society organizations,
9
See William Riker (1962), Theory of Political Coalitions, Yale University Press,
New Haven, CT, and London; and George Tsebelis (2002), Veto Players: How Political
Institutions Work, Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ, and Russell Sage Foun-
dation, New York.
10
See Barrington Moore (1966), Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy. Lord
and Peasant in the Making of the Modern World, Beacon Press, Boston, MA; Dietrich
Rueschemeyer, Evelyne Huber Stephens, and John D. Stephens (1992), Capitalist
Development and Democracy, University of Chicago Press, Chicago, IL; and Bellin,
E. (2000), ‘Contingent democrats: industrialists, labor, and democratization in late-
developing countries’, World Politics, Vol 52.
11
Esping-Andersen, G. (1990), The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism, Princeton
University Press, Princeton, NJ; Ronald Rogowski (1989), Commerce and Coali-
tions: How Trade Affects Domestic Political Alignments, Princeton University Press,
Princeton, NJ; Richard Doner (1990), The Politics of Uneven Development: Thai-
land’s Economic Growth in Comparative Perspective, Cambridge University Press,
Cambridge.
420 South East Asia Research
local level political elites, provincial level political elites, national level
political elites, political parties and different state institutions such as
the military and national level ministries.
The notion of territorial coalitions relies on the concept of scale: the
idea that territories of differing size are nested within one another, for
example, at the global, national and local levels.12 Because scales are
malleable and dynamic, politics can shift upwards and downwards along
the scale. Marginal or peripheral territories or regions can transform
themselves from what Cox calls ‘spaces of dependence’ into ‘spaces of
engagement’ by allying with groups at different territorial levels through
‘scale jumping’, in which local issues are given national or interna-
tional prominence through the construction of coalitions.13 International
or national issues can also jump scales downwards, giving them local
prominence. Scholars have used similar concepts to explain local NGOs
or workers who ally with supranational organizations in order to put
pressure on that national state.14 In these cases, ‘jumping scales’ pro-
vides a critical way in which local interests can become nationalized or
internationalized.
The cross-cutting territorial alliances and ‘scale-jumping’ help us to
understand territorial politics, but previous studies have generally as-
sumed that in creating territorial alliances or other coalitions, the actors
generally share a certain set of values and norms, such as about human
rights, workers’ rights or other issues. The work of Keck and Sikkink,
for example, is fundamentally a story about norm diffusion in which
actors appeal to supranational institutions to put pressure on the national
level.15 More generally, assumptions made in coalitional politics are
that values and norms are either shared or need to be put aside in pur-
suit of specific goals.16
In contrast, the case of provincial proliferation suggests what I call a
12
See Kevin R. Cox (1998), ‘Spaces of dependence, spaces of engagement and the
politics of scale, or: looking for local politics’, Political Geography, Vol 17, No 1,
pp 1–23; and David Delaney and Helga Leitner (1997), ‘The political construction
of scale’, Political Geography, Vol 16, No 2, pp 93–97.
13
Cox, supra note 12.
14
See Margaret E. Keck, and Kathryn Sikkink (1998), Activists Beyond Borders:
Advocacy Networks in International Politics, Cornell University Press, Ithaca, NY;
and Sidney Tarrow (2004), in Christopher K. Ansell, and Giuseppe Di Palma, eds,
Restructuring Territoriality: Europe and the United States, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge, p 300.
15
Keck and Sikkink, supra note 14.
16
William Gamson ((1961), ‘A theory of coalition formation’, American Sociological
Review, Vol 26, No 3, pp 373–382.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 421
politics of difference. Simultaneous and differing values can form the
basis for a coalition. Put another way, coalitions can work because of
differences, not just despite them. This is particularly the case when
we think about territorial or regional movements. There tends to be an
assumption that territorial politics are inherently a zero-sum game and
that the benefit of, say, national territoriality comes at the expense of
local or regional territory.
One reason for this is that many scholars see territoriality in largely
materialist terms. Areas rich in natural resources such as oil, minerals
and timber benefit those who can access and control them. If natural
resources are distributed unevenly across a territory of a given state,
the central government may extract the resources either to redistribute
them across other regions, or simply to plunder them for its own ben-
efit. This in turn can lead to domestic imbalance and resentment.17 Even
without natural resources, certain regions may feel marginalized by a
central government, leading to a conflation of marginality, territory
and identity, or ‘internal colonialism’, which then gives rise to separa-
tism or rebellion.18 If territories are conceived in material terms, then it
makes sense for them to remain inherently conflictual, because in a
world of fixed goods, one side’s gain is the other’s loss. For that rea-
son, most research on politics and territory has emphasized rebellions,
civil wars, separatism and ethnic violence.19
More recently, scholars have also sought to understand the symbolic
dimensions of territory, including the sources of territorial attachments.20
While early work tended to assume attachments as primordial, more
recent scholars have tried to understand why and how those attach-
ments emerge.21 But understanding the sources of symbolic attachments
that individuals and groups have to territories and the process by which
17
Michael L. Ross (2004), ‘What do we know about natural resources and civil war?’
Journal of Peace Research, Vol 41, No 3, pp 337–356.
18
Michael Hechter (1975), Internal Colonialism: The Celtic Fringe in British National
Development, 1536–1966, University of California Press, Berkeley, CA.
19
David Brown (1988), ‘From peripheral communities to ethnic nations: separatism in
Southeast Asia’, Pacific Affairs, Vol 61, No 1, pp 51–77; Jacques Bertrand (2004),
Nationalism and Ethnic Conflict in Indonesia, Asia-Pacific Studies, New York, and
Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
20
Miles Kahler, and Barbara F. Walter (2006), Territoriality and Conflict in an Era of
Globalization, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge.
21
See, for example, Hein Goemans (2006), ‘Territoriality and conflict in an era of
globalization’, in Miles Kahler, and Barbara Walter, eds, Territoriality and Conflict
in an Era of Globalization, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, pp 25–61; and
Keith H. Basso (1996), Wisdom Sits in Places: Landscape and Language Among the
Western Apache, University of New Mexico Press, Albuquerque, NM.
422 South East Asia Research
they emerge also reinforces the incompatibility of territoriality between
different actors. The moving of indigenous peoples from their land or
building a development project on sacred places typically shows how
materialist aspects of territoriality trump and overpower the symbolic
or cultural dimension. In turn, it also shows how these kinds of sym-
bolic attachments can be used as a way to mobilize and resist territorial
encroachments by the state.22
A third dimension of territoriality is political or institutional: terri-
tory has political value that emerges out of the political institutions of
a state. Where regional representation in the political system is institu-
tionalized, territory means having a voice on state matters.23 For example,
the total number of states or provinces can play an important part in
determining the overall make-up of the legislative and executive branches
of government as they form the basis of electoral districts. While legis-
lative seats are distributed according to a party-list system, close attention
is paid to the balance of representatives between different regions. Again,
standing on their own, institutional views of territory might suggest
competition rather than cooperation.
However, in critical moments, I argue that these differing notions of
territoriality –material, cultural and institutional – can and do exist si-
multaneously, and open doors not just to conflict, but also to forms of
cooperation. The point here is not that difference always leads to coop-
eration, but that one should not necessarily assume conflict. The
multidimensional nature of territory forms the basis by which indi-
viduals and groups may decide to mobilize and form alliances around
territorial issues. Interests along economic, political and social dimen-
sions may often overlap in surprising and unexpected ways.
Similar observations have been made about environmental move-
ments in Indonesia that bring together provincial and local actors in an
alliance to protect natural resources, despite having significantly different
views on the environment itself. Tsing argues that ‘sometimes, differ-
ence can lead to new forms of unity and struggle’.24 That difference
forms the basis of cooperation is thus a critical insight in understanding
22
Suraya Afiff, and Celia Lowe (2007), ‘Claiming indigenous community: political
discourse and natural resource rights in Indonesia’, Alternatives, Vol 32, No 1, pp
73–97.
23
Stefano Bartolini (2004), in Christopher K. Ansell, and Giuseppe Di Palma, eds,
Restructuring Territoriality: Europe and the United States, Cambridge University
Press, Cambridge, pp 19–44.
24
Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing (2005), Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection,
Princeton University Press, Princeton, NJ.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 423
Indonesia’s recent territorial changes. The next section elaborates more
on these mobilizations in the Indonesian context.
The sources of territorial coalitions
If territorial coalitions form the basis of regional proliferation, where
and how do territorial coalitions arise? In general, scholars have pro-
posed two different theories of coalition formation. One school argues
that they emerge under situations of extreme threat, which force groups
towards cohesion and coalition. Another school argues that coalitions
emerge in the context of opportunity and thus emphasizes ‘environ-
mental conditions’ of coalition formation. This study leans on the side
of opportunity and environmental conditions highlighting in particular
the way institutional changes affect alliance possibilities.
In Indonesia, institutional change in the late 1990s helped align the
interests of different actors in such a way that territorial proliferation
became a highly desirable course of action. I focus in particular here
on formal institutions of the Indonesian state, looking at electoral and
representative institutions and bureaucratic authority. I highlight the
twin reforms of democratization and decentralization after the fall of
the authoritarian New Order in 1998. Democratization and decentrali-
zation provided a way through which actors could simultaneously hold
different interests in territory, and for this reason, work together effec-
tively to create new territories. The following section elaborates on
how democratization and decentralization work to effect territorial
change.
Democratization
One direct result of Indonesia’s political transition has been the liber-
alization of politics. The military and the police force no longer have
the kind of impunity that they had during the New Order era. Where
speaking out on political issues was considered subversive and dan-
gerous before, it is not uncommon to see several demonstrations a week
in central Jakarta now. This suggests a newfound ‘political opportu-
nity’ for advocates of new regions in Indonesia. But democratization
did more than simply provide an environment for stronger forms of
advocacy. It also changed the institutional incentives for territory and
laid the foundation for territorial coalitions to emerge.
On the one hand, the tightly controlled process of party formation
under the New Order was loosened up considerably under reformasi.
424 South East Asia Research
Under the new rules, a new party required only 50 signatures of citi-
zens 21 years of age or older, and registration with a court and the
Ministry of Justice.25 As a result, dozens of new political parties emerged
in 1999.
At the same time, reforms also constrained parties by laying out strin-
gent rules about which parties could participate in the national elections.
To prevent the emergence of regional or ethnic-based political parties,
the rules established that in order to contest the 1999 elections, parties
would have to have an office established in at least one-third of Indo-
nesia’s provinces and at least half of all districts in those provinces.26
Election laws also eliminated the possibility of non-party candidates
and gave a high degree of control to the central party leadership over
the selection of regional and local legislative candidates.27
The simultaneous loosening and tightening of the electoral system
also had territorial implications. On the one hand, electoral districts
designed along provincial lines (since changed) meant that provinces
became a major arena of electoral contestation both for local actors
and for national players. The rules were such that national parties had
to build and maintain strong networks and connections with local party
offices and candidates, often activating lines of patronage between Ja-
karta and the regions. In this sense, political parties formed a critical
cross-territorial linkage between national and local level actors. Party
success at the local level was critical to their success at the national
level.
In certain contexts, it also made sense for national level party actors
to support local initiatives for new provinces with the prospect of ex-
panding and strengthening the party presence at the local level. In
particular, if a minority party in one province could become a majority
party in a potentially new province, it would be an opportunity to con-
solidate the party in the locality. Under early rules, legislatures also
chose governors who in turn could distribute patronage downward in
local offices. In this sense, national and local levels could find mutually
reinforcing benefits to the creation of new provinces and districts.
Democratization and particularly the rules regarding political par-
ties and elections thus had important territorial implications. They
25
Dwight Y. King (2003), Half-Hearted Reform: Electoral Institutions and the Strug-
gle for Democracy in Indonesia, Praeger, Westport, CT, p 51.
26
Ibid.
27
Stephen Sherlock, ed (2004), The 2004 Indonesian Elections: How the System Works
and What the Parties Stand For: A Report on Political Parties, Australian National
University, Canberra, p 8.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 425
strengthened the linkages between national and regional/local actors
and in some circumstances gave important institutional incentives for
territorial changes at the local level to national level actors. This then
explains why national actors would push for new provinces, because
they provided the possibility of legislative and political advantage.
Decentralization
The second pillar of reformasi after 1999, decentralization, comple-
mented these institutional incentives with material and symbolic
incentives as well. Initiated under the Habibie government, it was im-
plemented by the administration of Abdurrachman Wahid in 2001. Two
laws, Law 22 of 1999 on Regional Administrations and Law 25 of
1999 on Inter-Government Financial Balance, devolved almost all sub-
stantive power, except in a few key areas (foreign affairs, international
trade, monetary policy, national security and legal systems) to the re-
gency, a subprovincial level known in Indonesian as the kabupaten.
Law 22 on administration devolved a broad range of public service
delivery functions to the regions. These included the planning, financ-
ing, implementing, evaluating and monitoring of such services. At the
same time, the new laws also strengthened the role of the elected re-
gional councils Dewan Perwakilan Rakyat Daerah, or DPRD. The
regions were to be given a wide-ranging autonomy and to be account-
able directly to central government. Thus new responsibilities included
work in the areas of environment, labour, public works and natural
resource management.28 Local parliaments also gained power independ-
ent of the local chief executive. Law 25 on fiscal balance concentrated
on empowering and raising local economic capabilities. Local govern-
ment was given the power to tax, charge local fees and collect revenue
from local businesses. It would also be allotted regional development
or ‘equalization’ funds from central government to make up any budg-
etary shortfalls.
By shifting power, authority and resources downwards, it is easy to
see why actors would then see an immense opportunity at the local
level. Materially, the creation of new districts and provinces meant
that these areas would receive larger infusions of development funds
from the central government. At the same time, the fiscal arrangements
of decentralization meant that localities would be able to retain more
28
Edward Aspinall, and Greg Fealy (2003), Local Power and Politics in Indonesia.
Decentralisation and Democratisation, Indonesia Update Series, Institute of South-
east Asian Studies, Singapore, p 4.
426 South East Asia Research
of the revenues from the locality rather than sending them to the cen-
tral government. A new province also required certain start-up
infrastructure, including a new governor’s house, a new legislative house,
new bureaucratic offices and the like. Thus it had a tendency to pro-
mote small construction booms in the area and fill the pockets of those
who controlled contract bids.29 And of course, new regional units pro-
vided new opportunities for patronage and rent-seeking. Malley argues
that decentralization of power also decentralized corruption in some
places.30 It is notable that many proponents of new regions were often
elites who had lost political competition elsewhere and sought a new
province as a place where they could become governor.31
Decentralization also had an important symbolic dimension. By shift-
ing power from the centre to the periphery, it was also seen as a way to
quell calls for separatism and/or revolution. Giving power and autonomy
to local level leaders would mean that the regions would be relatively
free from the intrusive political machinations of the central govern-
ment. But ironically, this also then triggered new regionalist movements
that sought to create their own regions, provinces or districts, usually
justified along ethnic lines. This is elaborated in more detail in subse-
quent cases, but many of these movements invoked historical claims
such as adat and invoked a discourse of local marginality.
Institutional reform, I argue, thus helped to create the conditions for
territorial coalitions for new regions to emerge. In particular, democra-
tization and decentralization allowed groups to see territory in
fundamentally different but complementary ways. Political parties saw
the potential for political advantage in local and national political in-
stitutions, while local groups saw the material and symbolic advantages
of new regions. Capitalizing on difference, these groups formed an al-
liance to push for new regions.
Variation in coalition formation
The national level picture shows how the foundations for territorial
coalitions emerged in the context of institutional reforms. In-depth
empirical cases, on the other hand, help us to see how these territorial
coalitions actually worked. What the cases show is that, in fact, while
territorial coalitions appeared in different cases of new province forma-
29
Fitrani, Hofman and Kaiser, supra note 6, at p 65.
30
Michael Malley (2003), ‘New rules, old structures and the limits of decentraliza-
tion’, in Aspinall, and Fealy, supra note 28, at p 115.
31
For example, see Roth, supra note 7.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 427
ation, they operated in substantially different ways. In some cases, lo-
cal actors ‘scaled upwards’ to create linkages with national groups. In
other instances, national actors seem to have ‘scaled downwards’ to
create alliances with local actors. A third case illustrates how national
and local actors have together pushed for a new province, thereby
‘squeezing’ the middle. Despite these differences in triggers, I also
show how the cases present a fundamental similarity in the way they
highlight the multidimensionality of territory and provide the founda-
tion for territorial coalitions.
Scaling up: Gorontalo’s popular struggle for a new province
The case of Gorontalo province breaking away from North Sulawesi
illustrates a ‘bottom-up’ model of new province formation.32 The trig-
ger for a new province movement emerged from a broad feeling of
historical marginality based along ethnic and religious lines. When
decentralization and democratization emerged at the national level, they
created conditions ripe in Gorontalo for people to begin advocating a
new province. The case also demonstrates the way in which national
and provincial actors scaled upwards to join together with local actors
to push the new province forward.
North Sulawesi itself had historically been a multi-ethnic province
encompassing the Minahasa, the Gorontalo, the Sangir-Talaud and the
Bolaang-Mongondow. But one of the long-running frustrations of the
Gorontalo was the predominance of the Minahasa to the north, whom
they saw as monopolizing many of the political and economic activi-
ties in the province. Aside from being a different ethnic group, the
Minahasa are historically Christian and had been favoured under Dutch
colonial rule.33 Their privileged positions continued through the Sukarno
and Suharto era.34 Despite their regional rebellion, PRRI-Permesta in
the mid-1960s, the Minahasa remained the dominant economic and
political group in the province.35 In this way, the differences in ethnicity
32
See Ehito Kimura (2007), ‘Marginality and opportunity in the periphery: the emer-
gence of Gorontalo province in North Sulawesi’, Indonesia, No 84, October, pp 71–95,
for a more detailed study.
33
Mieke Schouten (1998), Leadership and Social Mobility in a Southeast Asian Soci-
ety Minahasa, 1677–1983, Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-,
Land- en Volkenkunde, KITLV, Leiden.
34
David Henley (1996), Nationalism and Regionalism in a Colonial Context Minahasa
in the Dutch East Indies, Verhandelingen van het Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal-,
Land- en Volkenkunde, KITLV Press, Leiden.
35
Barabara S. Harvey (1977), Permesta: Half a Rebellion, Cornell Modern Indonesia
Project, Ithaca, NY.
428 South East Asia Research
also came to represent Gorontalo’s marginality, leading to a latent feel-
ing of regional resentment.36
During the national political turmoil of 1997 and 1998, sites of po-
litical organization and activism emerged in the form of student study
groups and associations. Many local students studying in Jakarta and
other parts of the archipelago began to return to the region during this
time and joined local movements for reformasi and took to the streets.
In Gorontalo, student demonstrations mirrored the broader national is-
sues such as inflation, foodstuffs, economic security and corruption.
However, as time passed, national demands became highly localized
and frustrations came to be directed against the local district chief,
who was seen as a lackey of central government and the Suharto re-
gime. Demonstrations in front of government offices led to clashes with
military and police and generated anger against the governor of North
Sulawesi as well.
It was in this environment that students and local activists began to
organize actively for the creation of a separate Gorontalo province.
One focal point became the Musyawarah Besar (MUBES) meeting in
2000. Here student organizers officially demanded the creation of a
new province and in turn garnered the support of other groups, includ-
ing student Islamic groups (HMI) as well as religious and cultural groups
in the region. This in turn led to the creation of an even more formal
organization explicitly designed to promote new province formation,
called the Committee to Prepare for the Separation of Gorontalo Tomini
Raya Province (P4GTR for short).
With the formation of P4GTR, the role of students folded into the
wider movement for a new province. As student influence waned, P4GTR
came to be dominated by cultural and societal leaders and groups. In
this sense, local elites came to join the movement and push their own
political agenda. The first set of elites we might call ‘out of power’ or
‘aspiring’ elites, which included prominent educators, religious fig-
ures and business leaders. Aspiring elites lent the movement credibility
as efforts to lobby and socialize became more important. In fact, the
competition among local elites led to the creation of competing organi-
zations promoting new province formation, including P4GTR, Presnas
and KP3GRT, in which each group’s leaders seemed to have guberna-
torial aspirations.
36
Interview with Jamal Modooeto, former student activist, Bappeda, Gorontalo, 26
July 2005. This translates roughly as ‘Two from five that are brothers’ and refers to
the different subethnic groups that together form the larger Gorontalo community.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 429
Local officials also saw the potential economic benefit of creating a
new province. This would mean increased development projects from
which elites typically benefited through fixed bidding processes and
the like. The prospect of these kinds of material benefits, as well as the
potential rise in status from a locality to a province also played an
important role.
In order for local aspirations to succeed, local actors also needed to
link up with national level allies. At the national level, two kinds of
actors contributed to Gorontalo’s success. Individual political elites
with roots in the region offered strong symbolic and material support.
For example, then-President Habibie gave both financial support and
political lobbying support for the cause. Others included business and
military elites who resided in Jakarta and had strong economic and
political clout, such as Rachmad Gobel, a prominent businessman, and
General Wiranto, a prominent general under the Suharto regime.37
But aside from individual elites, party politics also played a critical
role. Institutionally, Golkar was still the strongest political party at the
national level in 1999, and Gorontalo – among other regions in the
outer islands – was a stronghold for Golkar. At the provincial level, out
of 25 members, 13 were from GOLKAR, two from PAN, one from
PDI-P, one from Kebangkitan Bangsa, one from Partai Bulan Bintang,
four from PPP and three from TNI/Polri.38 In addition, because many
saw President Habibie as a local Gorontalo who had become president,
many people supported his Golkar party in the elections. This high-
lights the degree to which we can see that a strong national party seeking
to maintain its legislative dominance would have a strong incentive to
carve out provinces that would clearly provide electoral gain at the
national level.
While local groups were able to gain the support of national level
actors to form a coalition, there did emerge initial reluctance at the
regional or provincial level. Members of the provincial legislature were
initially reluctant to support the movement because they saw their own
seats as secure in the North Sulawesi legislature and did not want to
risk losing their seats in the context of a new Gorontalo province.
Realizing the danger of this opposition, the pro-Gorontalo forces
37
Note that this was when the army still had seats in the legislature. Some suggest that
Wiranto may have even been the one to broach the subject. Interview with Pitres
Sombowadile, activist, 4 February 2005.
38
Alim Niode (2002), Gorontalo: Perubahan Nilai-Nilai Budaya, Pranata Socsial dan
Ideologi Lokal, Yayasan Pohalaa and Media Pustaka, Jakarta, p 24.
430 South East Asia Research
brokered a deal. They agreed that if the legislators supported the push
for a new province, they would be allowed to move automatically to a
new Gorontalo legislature and fill the seats without having to contest
them in the first election cycle.39 Out of the eight, seven agreed and
supported the regional split, while one remained in his seat in Manado.
Once the provincial leaders had been bought off, other opposition was
relatively subdued and there was little coordination or mobilization to
oppose the province.
At the same time, the other elites at the provincial level did little to
oppose the split, in part perhaps because they saw Gorontalo’s depar-
ture as an opportunity to create an ethnic province of their own. A
revivalist movement for the Minahasa, for example, proved quite popular
at the time and, in some crude way, the exit of Gorontalo might have
been thought of as ‘good riddance’. In 2001, Gorontalo achieved its
dream of new province formation and proved to be one of the smoothest
such cases.
The provincial split between Gorontalo and North Sulawesi is a case in
which historical marginalization led to underlying popular resentment,
which was then activated by the economic and political changes of 1998.
The movement for a new province was decidedly initiated from the bot-
tom up, in contrast to the experience of some other regions, and the
success in achieving a Gorontalo province meant it was critically impor-
tant to forge multilevel coalitions with groups at different levels of
administration from the local and provincial to the national level.
Scaling down: West Irian and the imposed pemekaran
If Gorontalo’s experience was one of the ‘bottom-up’ pressures forming
the initial trigger for new province formation, West Irian provides a
starkly different experience where forces from the national level trig-
gered the move and scaled downwards to localize a national level interest
in a new province. West Irian’s experience can be seen in the larger
context of the debate about the province of West Papua and its place in the
Indonesian nation-state. For this reason, the national security apparatus
that objected strongly to Papua’s separatist struggle played a key part in
the push for a new province. Put differently, creating new provinces on
Papua proved, among other things, a strategy of ‘divide and rule’.
The issue of Papua has long been contentious in Indonesian politics.
The region was colonized in the mid-nineteenth century, largely as a
39
Husein Mohi, journalist, Gorontalo, 29 July 2005.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 431
strategic buffer against other encroaching powers.40 After the Indone-
sian revolution, the Dutch refused to hand over the territory and sought
to make it a Eurasian homeland.41 After years of wrangling between
the two countries, the Dutch transferred the province to the United
Nations in 1962, and the UN handed it over to Indonesian rule seven
months later.42 Indonesia in turn agreed to hold a plebiscite, dubbed
‘The Act of Free Choice’, in which representatives of Papua could vote
for or against integration into Indonesia. However, the vote was highly
controversial and remains a major point of dispute between separatists
and integrationists today. Separatist sentiment ran high in much of the
region, along with Aceh and East Timor, posing a major problem to the
New Order government.
In marked contrast to the Gorontalo experience, the announcement of
the creation of West Papua province came about suddenly, with little
warning, and with little discussion at the local level. The formal decision
was announced by then-President Megawati Sukarnoputri through the
presidential directive INPRES 1/2003. On the one hand, Megawati’s
decision can be traced to her ‘red and white’ credentials and her emphasis
on national unity. But in addition to her personal perspectives, her actions
should also be seen in the larger context of the Indonesian state’s imperative.
In particular, there was broad concern at the national level that Special
Autonomy Laws passed for Papua under the previous Wahid adminis-
tration were a first step towards Papuan independence rather than any
final agreement on autonomy between West Papua and Jakarta. Many
saw the 2001 law as promoting nationalism through its endorsement of
‘Papuan values’ such as the Papuan flag and Papuan anthem.43 There
was also broad concern that the Governor of Papua, J.P. Solossa, sup-
ported the separatist movement and OPM’s activities, particularly in
recruiting international backing for the West Papuan cause in his fre-
quent trips abroad.44 Furthermore, government officials worried that
the Papuan independence movement had gained momentum after the
success of East Timor’s independence.45
40
John Saltford (2003), The United Nations and the Indonesian Takeover of West Papua,
1962–1969: The Anatomy of Betrayal, RouledgeCurzon, London, and New York.
41
Arend Lijphart (1966), The Trauma of Decolonization, Yale University Press, New
Haven, CT, and London.
42
Saltford, supra note 40.
43
‘Ada Apa di Balik Inpres Pemekaran Provinsi Papua’, Kompas, 17 February 2003.
44
Ibid.
45
‘Menteri Pertahanan Matori Abdul Djalil Lepasnya Timtim Menambah Semangat
Separatisme di Papua’, Kompas, 25 February 2003.
432 South East Asia Research
In January of 2002, the National Resilience Institute Lemhannas, a
military political think tank that conducts in-depth studies on national
resilience, issued a report entitled ‘The Partition of Irian Jaya: A Solu-
tion to the Threat of National Disintegration’. It also argued that the
current elite in Papua were essentially pro-autonomy and therefore posed
a threat to national unity. It also argued that the partition of Papua
would have three benefits for Indonesia. First, it would divide the ‘pro-
disintegration forces’, and in particular, would make it more difficult
to hold a referendum on Papuan autonomy in the region. Second, it
would fracture Papuan identity and symbolically undermine Papuan
nationalism by fostering three different cultures and identities and giv-
ing them political representation and territory. Finally, by reducing the
nationalist threat, it would stabilize the region, protect it from violence
and promote more business and economic development.46
The security apparatus of Indonesia thus clearly played a critical
role in both conceptualizing and implementing the idea of creating new
provinces and hence dividing up Papua. In particular, BIN, the Na-
tional Intelligence Agency, coaxed, threatened and bribed local leaders
to go along with a plan to create new provinces on Papua. According to
newspaper reports, the head of the agency, Hendropriyono, instructed
then Vice-Governor Abraham Atururi on 4 February to establish the
new province of West Irian, noting that ‘I don’t want to have to use a
passport to visit Papua’.47 Hendropriyono also pressured others includ-
ing Andreas Anggaibak, the district chief of Mimika, who then declared
his intent to establish a Central Papua province. Reports allege that in
addition to BIN, officials from the Ministry of Home Affairs exerted
pressure and encouragement on Anggaibak as well as others in Papua’s
provincial legislature.48
In addition to the national security apparatus, clear incentives for a
Papua split emerged at the national level among particular political
parties. Megawati’s PDI-P party saw the splitting of Papua as a way to
break up the Golkar party’s political stranglehold over the province
and Golkar’s political machine in the Outer Islands more generally.49
46
Richard Chauvel, and Ikrar Nusa Bhakti (2004), The Papua Conflict: Jakarta’s Per-
ceptions and Policies, East-West Center, Washingon, DC, p 38.
47
See ‘Ada Apa di Balik Inpres Pemekaran Provinsi Papua’, Kompas, 17 February
2003; and ICG (2003), ‘Dividing Papua: how not to do it’, Asia Briefing, No 24,
ICG, Brussels, p 9.
48
See Chauvel and Bhakti, supra note 46, at p 41; and ‘Provinsi Irian Jaya Barat
Diresmikan’, Kompas, 7 February 2003.
49
‘Ada Apa di Balik Inpres Pemekaran Provinsi Papua’, supra note 47.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 433
In 1997, Golkar received 86% of the vote in Papua versus 7.1% for
PDI.50 In 1999, Golkar managed to hold on to a plurality of seats (15
out of 45) in the provincial legislature as well as the governorship. But
the implications of a West Irian province were not likely to help Golkar.
Given the changed political climate since the general elections in 1999,
Megawati would be likely to gain the political support of two new
governors, distribute PDI-P patronage in the new provinces, and also
make sure that related business, covering contracts and concessions in
the region, would be secured, including ties to British Petroleum and
Pertamina in Bintuni Bay where they were establishing the Tangguh
natural gas plant.51
The marriage of PDI-P and the military/security apparatus at the na-
tional level to push for the splitting of Papua thus makes sense at several
levels. On the one hand, Megawati herself claimed the mantle of her
late father Sukarno and emphasized national unity more than any other
viable presidential candidate. This ideology fitted well with the mili-
tary, as evidenced by the way Megawati surrounded herself with military
brass. The military had thrown its support behind Megawati during her
presidency and thus actively supported and shaped the new post-Wahid
policy towards Papua. The military/security apparatus for its part also
pushed along ideological lines that matched Megawati’s. At the same
time, they had their own institutional and economic incentives in a
new province. The military, for example, had strong ties to multina-
tional companies such as Freeport, which had large mining operations
in the region. New provinces would mean building new provincial com-
mands in each of these regions. This would potentially bring them closer
to Freeport mine as well as BP’s Tanggua natural gas development at
Bintani Bay in Manokwari.52
Working with local actors
But the division of Papua was more than simply the central govern-
ment exerting its influence unilaterally. To be sure, national players
did pressure local actors to go along with the plan for a new province.
But it is worth noting that they saw it as necessary to enlist their sup-
port at all. Furthermore, it is critical to point out that they chose to link
up with actors who could potentially benefit from the creation of a new
50
‘Prediksi Pemilu di Irian Jaya Barat’, Kompas, 6 March 2004.
51
Jaap Timmer (2005), ‘Decentralisation and elite politics in Papua’, State Society and
Governance in Melanesia No 6, p 449.
52
King, supra note 25, at p 92.
434 South East Asia Research
province. Local incentives for a new province varied, but key elites
supported the process because they saw an opportunity for political
advancement.
For example, several of the strongest proponents of new provinces
were former deputy governors eyeing the possibility of new
governorships that would appear with the creation of new provinces.
Abraham Atururi, John Djopari and Herman Monim were all deputies
to Governor Freddy Numberi in 1999, and Monim and Atururi were
allegedly frustrated because they had been promised governorship of
the new provinces back in 1999, which never materialized.53 Both men
ran as unsuccessful candidates for governor in 2000. Djopari went so
far as to note in public remarks that the advantage to partition was that
‘three Papuans could become governor’.54
These local elites in turn worked closely with local civil society or-
ganizations that opposed Papuan separatism and independence.
Organizations such as the Irian Jaya Crisis Center (IJCC) even op-
posed the special autonomy status granted to the province back in 2002.55
In July 2002, leaders of IJCC allegedly contacted BIN in supporting
the partition of Papua. In 2002, IJCC assembled Tim 315, a lobby group
made up of people from the Sorong and Manokwari regions, as well as
Papuan students in Yogyakarta and Jakarta who supported Atururi’s
bid to negotiate a plan with BIN and the Ministry of Home Affairs.56 In
a meeting set up by General Hendropriyono of BIN, Tim 315 met the
President and the Minister for Social, Political and Security Affairs,
General Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono, to support the idea of a new prov-
ince.57 Newspaper accounts suggest that bribes in the sum of $320,000
were exchanged, which went to officers in the Ministry of Home Af-
fairs as well as to the Irian Jaya Crisis Center.58
Finally, in terms of local actors, it is important to point out that at the
broad societal level, migrants on Papua are critical of Papuan inde-
pendence and thus more likely to be supportive of the new provincial
divisions. Migrants have already felt the brunt of much ethnic nation-
alism in Papua, particularly in the immediate aftermath of the 2001
decentralization laws, when affirmative action programmes prioritized
the appointment or election of puteri asli daerah, or ‘native sons of the
53
Timmer, supra note 51, at p 6.
54
Chauvel and Bhakti, supra note 46, at p 41.
55
Chauvel and Bhakti, supra note 46, at p 6.
56
Timmer, supra note 51, at p 6.
57
King, supra note 25, at p 92.
58
Timmer, supra note 51, at p 6.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 435
soil’ to most government jobs. Although there were no migrant organi-
zations per se that openly demonstrated to support or oppose the splits,
the opposition that did emerge was almost completely ethnic Papuan.
Certainly, there was also a broad spectrum of groups that opposed
the division of the province. In particular, these included groups that
supported independence and/or special autonomy. Papuan representa-
tives in the national assembly, local civil society organizations, religious
leaders, academics and student groups all voiced their opposition. The
governor and the speaker of the parliament, both from Golkar, were
also staunch opponents of new province creation.59 Golkar as a party
also came out strongly against dividing the province, in large part be-
cause it saw the Megawati-led government’s strategy there.60 However,
none of these opposition forces was ultimately able to overpower the
national/local coalition to create the new province of West Papua.
West Papua’s case shows that new province formation and territorial
change in Indonesia follow different kinds of paths. In contrast to a
popular push by local groups who sought assistance from national ac-
tors, the West Irian case suggests a ‘top-down’ path in which intense
national level interest emerged with the support of key elites and or-
ganizations at the local level. At the same time, it shows that even such
a strong push from the top down required complicity and cooperation
with key local actors, thereby creating a territorial coalition. The allies
at the local level helped to legitimize and justify the move in a way that
national actors could not.
Squeezing the middle: Island Riau and the mixed case
In addition to Gorontalo’s ‘bottom-up’ experience and West Irian’s ‘top-
down’ path, the case of Kepulauan Riau (Archipelagic Riau), or Kepri,
illustrates a third path that has both bottom-up and top-down forces
squeezing a reluctant middle in the process of creating a new province.
In Kepri, the bottom-up forces were not as strong or as resonant as in
Gorontalo; and the top-down forces of national security were not as
pressing as in West Irian. But together, these two forces, while weaker
individually than the previous cases, linked together to create a strong
coalition for a new province.
Whereas in Gorontalo, most people saw themselves as having little
in common with their Minahasan counterparts in Northern Sulawesi,
the situation in Riau proved to be more complex. For one, both the
59
ICG, supra note 47.
60
‘Prediksi Pemilu di Irian Jaya Barat’, supra note 50.
436 South East Asia Research
mainland and the islands had a strong Malay heritage as both were
ruled under the Sultanate of Melaka in the fifteenth and sixteenth cen-
turies.61 And while the Malay Peninsula ultimately fell to British colonial
rule, Sumatra, including the mainland and islands of Riau, fell under
Dutch rule and subsequently joined the Indonesian Republic.62 Riau
province, both the mainland and the islands, thus came to be commonly
characterized as Indonesia’s Malay province.63
This ethnic distinctiveness, paired with the region’s strong economic
growth, fed a historically growing rift between Jakarta and Riau prov-
ince, a movement distinct from the effort to create Kepri province. During
the 1960s and 70s, the New Order government invested heavily in the
petroleum industry in Riau, developing and selling oil concessions in
the Minas oilfields. By the 1970s, Riau had become the largest source
of oil in the country, producing a revenue of about $4.2 billion, or one-
sixth of the entire Indonesian GDP by 1974.64
But whether from oil or other natural resources, only a small per-
centage of the province’s revenue remained in the region, and this,
coupled with frustration about Jakarta’s overcentralized political rule,
erupted into new demands towards the end of the New Order. In March
1999, amidst the demonstrations for reformasi, students from the Uni-
versity of Riau and other local universities in Pekanbaru, its capital,
called for Riau Merdeka, an independent Riau. To be sure, Riau Merdeka
should not be mistaken for a broad popular nationalist movement on
the scale of East Timor. Others in Riau stopped short of calling for
independence, but demanded more autonomy, more oil revenues, and
threatened violence if not accommodated.
The new province movement for Archipelagic Riau should be seen
as a reaction against the move for an independent Riau province. For
activists of Kepri province, the notion of Kepri joining the Riau Merdeka
movement largely rang hollow. While there were no clear lines of eth-
nic or religious difference, there was still the sense of lost status vis-à-vis
the mainland among Kepri’s activists and elites. Joining a Riau Merdeka
61
Barbara Watson Andaya, and Leonard Y. Andaya (2001), A History of Malaysia,
University of Hawai‘i Press, Honolulu.
62
Barbara Watson Andaya (1997), ‘Recreating a vision: Daratan and Kepulauan in
historical perspective’, Koninklijk Instituut voor Taal, Land- en Volkenkunde, Vol
153, pp 483–508.
63
L. Y. Andaya (2008), Leaves of the Same Tree: Trade and Ethnicity in the Straits of
Melaka, University of Hawai’i Press, Honolulu.
64
William Ascher (1998), ‘From oil to timber: the political economy of off-budget
development financing in Indonesia’, Indonesia, Vol 65, April, pp 37–61.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 437
movement would do little to recover that status, while new province-
hood would break relations with the mainland and recover some degree
of lost status and power. Kepri residents felt that with more resources
flowing from Island Riau to the mainland than vice versa, there was
little advantage in joining a separate sovereign state, which would, as
Wee notes, ‘lead to only a change of masters but no change in the cur-
rent relationship’.65 In other words, Kepri’s movement should be
understood as part of a triangular politics, in which the protagonists
sought to restore lost political and cultural status by linking directly
with Jakarta rather than joining an independent Riau.
The aspirations for a new province of the Riau Islands were thus offi-
cially articulated at a large societal meeting, the Musyawarah Besar
Masyarakat Kepri, from 15–16 May 1999, and another in 2000 that brought
together representatives from all the subdistricts of Kepulauan Riau.66
The original proposal at that time called only for creating new districts out
of the single Kepulauan Riau district. However, at one of the large regional
gatherings, there emerged a sudden push for a new province: one that was
‘sesuai dengan program reformasi’, or ‘consistent with the reformasi
program’. To address the problems of poverty and to promote prosperity,
participants decided a new province was necessary.67
In this sense, the movement for a new province had similar charac-
teristics to Gorontalo’s. Proponents felt that Kepri was not adequately
represented in the government bureaucracy on the mainland. This lack
of integration also created the perception that the provincial govern-
ment in Riau was unresponsive to the needs of the people on the
archipelago. In other words, there were clear issues of status, and those
on Archipelagic Riau claimed to feel like political second class citi-
zens. What makes the Riau case distinct from Gorontalo is the relative
lack of economic disparity between the two regions, and the more com-
plex aspects of ethnicity and identity between the two regions.
Nonetheless, with a declaration on the need for a new province made,
proponents established a new organization, Badan Persiapan Pemben-
tukan Provinsi Kepulauan Riau [Committee to Prepare for the Creation
of Island Riau Province], or B3PK. The organization was headed by
local leaders such as Abdul Razak and the vice-head, Sarafuddin Aluan,
65
Vivien Wee (2002), ‘Ethno-nationalism in process: atavism, ethnicity and indigenism
in Riau’, CUHK Working Paper Series 22.
66
‘Rekomendasi Pembentukan Provinsi Kepulauan Riau Diminta Segera Dekeluarkan’,
Koran Tempo, 10 January 2002.
67
Interview with Idris Zaini, 16 July 2007, Office in DPD Building, Jakarta.
438 South East Asia Research
both well regarded community leaders in Riau Archipelago.68 Like its
counterparts in Gorontalo and elsewhere, the organization also had rep-
resentatives in Jakarta to support lobbying efforts in the national
legislature.69 Claiming to represent a broad swathe of society, leaders
argued that ‘the desire for a new province is through all components of
society including Kepri, Tanjung Pinang, Batam, Karimun, and
Natuna’.70
In addition to civil society organizations, two sets of local elites worked
closely together to promote the formation of a new Kepri province: the
local aristocratic elite and the political elite. The former recognized a
new province as an opportunity to recreate some aspects of the old
Malay kingdom; the latter saw the obvious benefits of moving to being
district officials rather than remaining provincial ones.
The strongest proponents among the aristocratic elite were those who
could trace their lineage back to the traditional Riau-Lingga kingdom.71
They saw a new province as an opportunity to revive the old sultanate
and, among other things, to reintroduce traditional social practices such
as Sharia’h or Islamic Law.72 At the same time, the Malay/Bugis aris-
tocrats on the archipelago often saw themselves as distinct from the
mainland Malays. A Kepri province would reintroduce a truly ethni-
cally ‘Malay’ region. Thus some of the raja-raja, or local kings from
the area, were especially supportive of Kepri province. These raja were
revered for the study and preservation of the Malay language. Hundreds
of aristocrats participated in the mass rallies and lobbying efforts of
the local organizations.73
A second set of supporters were the secular elites who saw political
opportunities in the creation of a new province. One of the key propo-
nents of a new Kepri province was Huzrin Hood, the district chief or
bupati of the Kepri regency. Hood played an active leadership role in
BP3K, the civil society organization calling for a Kepri province. He
also worked closely with the Malay aristocrats, encouraging them to
68
Ibid. See also ‘Lebih dari 2.000 Warga Kepri ke Jakarta Senin Ini – Mendukung
Pembentukan Provinsi Kepri’, Kompas, 21 January 2002.
69
‘Masalah Kepri Menunggu Rekomendasi’, Republika, 24 January 2002, p 26.
70
‘Lebih dari 2.000 Warga Kepri ke Jakarta Senin Ini – Mendukung Pembentukan
Provinsi Kepri’, supra note 68.
71
Carole Faucher (2005), ‘Regional autonomy, Malayness and power hierarchy in the
Riau Archipelago’, in Maribeth Erb, et al, eds, Regionalism in Post-Suharto Indone-
sia, RoutledgeCurzon, London and New York, pp 125–140.
72
Ibid.
73
Faucher, supra note 71, at p 135.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 439
lobby Jakarta and Pekanbaru and join in the demonstrations to show
their support.
Huzrin Hood headed the Forum Solidaritas Reformasi Kabupaten
Kepulauan Riau founded during the reformasi period, as well as BP3KR,
which emerged later as a successor. Several interviewees noted that
Hood’s leadership and abilities were critical to Kepri’s success in new
province formation. Hood intended to become governor of the new
province, and he himself claimed to be the strongest candidate for the
governorship.74 However, in November 2003, the authorities found Hood
guilty of swindling Rp4.3 billion from the local budget. He was given
a two-year prison sentence and ordered to repay Rp3.4 billion of the
funds, since when he has lost all of his legal appeals.
Local activists had ample reason to reject the Riau Merdeka move-
ment and push for their own province. But they realized that they could
not achieve province-hood on their own. Thus activists for a new Kepri
province saw a potential alliance to be had with national elites, and
hence fanned the flames of Jakarta’s apprehension with Riau Merdeka.
Supporters of Kepri province went so far as to present evidence show-
ing how well prepared the groups in mainland Riau were in declaring
independence. This raised concern with the President (Megawati at the
time), who allegedly called together military advisers to voice her con-
cerns.75
This resulted in the involvement of two intelligence agencies who
aided local groups in the process of Kepri’s split. The first of these was
the National Intelligence Agency, or BIN, the same organization in-
volved in the creation of West Irian. Reports in the local media suggested
that leaders such as Hood worked to pay off legislators by employing
agents of BIN, who then carried out the actual pay-offs. Allegedly, the
acting agent was a two-star Army officer.76 The money used for pay-
offs originated from the government office of Kepri Regent Huzrin
Hood.77 At the same time, in an unusually public move, Major General
Muchdi PR, a high level official in BIN, noted that he strongly sup-
ported the creation of a Kepri province and called for patience as the
administrative details were finalized.
The Badan Inteligens Abri, or BIA, also took a strong interest in new
74
Maribeth Erb, Priyambudi Sulistiyanto, and Carole Faucher (2005), Regionalism in
Post-Suharto Indonesia, RoutledgeCurzon, London and New York.
75
Interview with Idris Zaini, Jakarta, 16 July 2007.
76
Haidir Anwar Tanjung (2002), ‘Bribery mars Riau debate: sources’, The Jakarta
Post, 2 September.
77
Ibid.
440 South East Asia Research
province formation. The commandant of Satuan Tugas at the time lent
its support to local activists. Abri’s intelligence unit had closer con-
nections to local leaders of the movement and offered a quid pro quo.
Specifically, it exchanged support for Kepri as long as Kepri was will-
ing to oppose initiatives from Riau Merdeka.78 Thus, in its official
declaration of a new province, it explicitly stated its rejection of Riau
Merdeka at the very beginning of the document.79 Also, activists from
Kepri staged a walk-out at a general meeting on Riau Merdeka organ-
ized in Pekanbaru.80
The involvement of BIN and BIA shows how that the creation of
Kepri came to be framed as a national security issue and, more pre-
cisely, as a way to undermine the Riau separatist movement. This logic
of divide-and-rule makes sense because of the potentially complemen-
tary economic resources between Riau and Kepri. The Riau mainland
is rich in natural resources, while Kepri has focused on foreign invest-
ment, manufacturing and export growth. Furthermore, the military may
have had an interest in new provinces and kabupatens because the process
increases the number of postings and hence provides more places where
officers can be posted.81
As in the previous cases, national parties also had an interest in cre-
ating a new province. Golkar, for example, was one of the major
beneficiaries of a new Kepri province. It ended up having a plurality of
the seats in the provincial legislature. PDI-P, which also supported the
bill, emerged with the second largest number of seats in the legislature.
In the end, Golkar candidate Ismeth Abdullah also won the election for
governorship. Abdullah had also been Habibie’s successor at the Batam
Industrial Development Area (BIDA) on Kepri after Habibie became
Suharto’s vice-president. Thus he had close connections not only with
Golkar, but also with the New Order figures invested heavily in Batam.82
Activists for Kepri also lobbied other political parties, including a large
meeting dubbed Musyawarah Partai Partai Politik Kepulauan Riau in
Jakarta in September of 2003. Representatives of the major parties were
all invited, including Golkar, PBR, PNBK, PBB, PKB, PAN, PKS, PDIP
78
Interview with Zulkar Nain, 20 July 2007, in Tanjung Pinang, Kepulauan Riau.
79
The first point of the declaration states ‘Menolak Negara Riau Merdeka’ and is signed
by representatives of the people of Kepulauan Riau, signed on 15 May 1999.
80
Interview with Elza Zen, Jakarta Representative for BP3KR, Jakarta, 23 July 2007.
81
Interview with H. Syamsul Bahrum, Assistant for Economy and Development, Batam,
22 July 2007.
82
Nankyung Choi (2005), Local Elections and Democracy in Indonesia: The Case of
the Riau Archipelago, Institute of Defence and Strategic Studies, Singapore.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 441
and PPP. This meeting sought to address and alleviate any perceived
problems to new province formation for the national level legislators
who would ultimately be voting on the bill to allow Kepri to become
its own province.
National actors thus also saw the creation of Kepri province in the
context of the larger Riau–Jakarta tensions emerging in post-Suharto
Indonesia. These flames were fanned by actors in Kepri and central
government actors who then supported the mainland/island split through
direct and indirect means. Other national actors, including national level
political parties, also saw the benefits of a new province and supported
the split even against the wishes of provincial leaders. It is to these
provincial actors that we now turn.
The movement for Kepri province did face strong opposition among
actors in the ‘mother province’, particularly those based in the capital
of Pekanbaru. In particular, the main disapproval stemmed from the
governor, though the provincial legislature was also split on the issue.
As noted earlier, the provincial opposition must be understood in the
context of the movement within Riau for more autonomy. The oppo-
nents of a new Kepri province were able to organize and mobilize. But
ultimately, they were not able to build as strong a coalition as the pro-
ponents. The best they were able to do was to slow the process down.
The provincial level actors were more isolated from allies at the na-
tional level because of their support for either independence or
federalism. And there was scant collaboration between provincial elites
and local level opponents of proliferation in Kepri proper.
The case of Kepri province illustrates a third path, neither ‘top-down’
nor ‘bottom-up’, but a mix between the two. While neither the national
nor the local level transpired to be overwhelming triggers, their simul-
taneity proved enough to overcome the reluctance of the provincial
level. All three cases have illustrated the importance of local context
and the way in which national level institutional changes filtered down
to the regions in different ways. The three cases also show how, once
triggered, each movement built a series of multilevel coalitions in or-
der to achieve its goal.
The politics of territorial coalitions
Given these varied experiences of new province creation, what can we
then say of the common thread that ties them together, namely the emer-
gence of territorial coalitions? This section draws out more generally
442 South East Asia Research
the way territorial coalitions seem to work. The arguments presented
speak against an exclusively statist interpretation of proliferation as
well as exclusively populist ones. Certainly, the creation of new admini-
strative boundaries at the subnational level typically falls within the
authority of the central state, and for this reason, support from actors in
the centre is critical. But national actors cannot simply create new prov-
inces on a whim, particularly in the context of a democratic and
decentralized state. Some kind of legitimating rationale is necessary,
and this often takes the form of local popular demand.
At the same time, the cases above also demonstrate the limits of
purely bottom-up or popular movements for new provinces. Local ac-
tors may push hard for new provinces, but in most cases actors in the
centre must also have some sort of incentive to change local bounda-
ries. In this way, the framework of territorial coalitions incorporates
the logic of state power as well as social forces. Instead of understand-
ing centre and periphery as unitary actors, it recognizes the fragmentation
of actors and interests in both the centre and the periphery. And it is
this fragmentation that allows territorial alignments to occur.
In this context, the aforementioned cases offer a glimpse at the dif-
ferent ways in which national, regional and local are linked and how
they function across the ‘top’ and ‘bottom’ or ‘centre’ and ‘periphery’.
Adapting from Sinha, I explore three kinds of linkages: institutional,
social and personal.83 For example, in all three cases, we saw how po-
litical parties based in Jakarta have relationships with local level political
parties that are formal and institutional. There are also social linkages,
links between social groups at both the centre and the periphery. One
example of this is the ethnic diaspora groups that form in places such
as Jakarta and which play an important role in lobbying and pushing
for change, including new province formation. Finally, personal link-
ages also play a critical role in linking actors between centre and
periphery. Although these linkages may emerge in the context of an
institutional or social context, they are independent in the sense that
links between actors can play an important and independent role in
seeing new province creation succeed.
83
Aseema Sinha (2004), The Regional Roots of Developmental Politics in India, a
Divided Leviathan, Contemporary Indian Studies, Indiana University Press,
Bloomington, IN. Sinha has suggested that one way to look at linkages is along lines
of authority, institutions and personnel. Sinha’s linkages are more formal and
bureaucratic, but in the Indonesian context, there are also more informal and
personalistic ties, suggesting a need for a slightly different conceptualization of link-
ages.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 443
These territorial coalitions function through different kinds of coor-
dination and collaboration. One clear way is that they pool resources.
Politicians and business leaders in the ‘centre’, for example, may give
money to the provincial cause. Habibie’s endorsement and financial
support on behalf of local groups in Gorontalo is perhaps the best ex-
ample of this. But beyond merely pooling resources, these groups may
coordinate mobilization at different levels of administration. For ex-
ample, demonstrations to show support for new provinces may occur
in the locality where the new province is proposed and in the capital of
the ‘mother province’ as well as in the capital. Finally, there may be a
functional division of labour among different groups at different lev-
els. In the locality, for example, organizations supporting proliferation
may socialize and garner support for the initiative. In the centre, the
activities may consist of lobbying the state for approval in creating a
new state.
The presence of and need for coalitions implies that there are forces
opposed to provincial proliferation, without which a coalition would
be unnecessary. Opponents of proliferation are also often present at
every single level of administration. However, as the case studies show,
many of the opponents to proliferation are particularly clustered at the
provincial level. Many provincial level actors are likely to lose out
when a new province is carved out of their own territory. For example,
the province may lose revenue generated from the territory. Incum-
bents may lose important electoral districts, which could hurt them and
help their opponents. Local legislators could lose their seats altogether
if their districts are allocated to a new province. And if the provincial
split occurs along ethnic lines, then ethnic groups in the mother prov-
ince may resent their new-found minority status.
Provincial level opponents may also try to align with groups both
above them in the centre and below them in the locality. For example,
at the local level, bureaucrats and other public officials from outside
the area may be concerned about their sudden status as minorities. This
reflects a concern throughout Indonesia that decentralization and re-
gional proliferation would lead to an ethnification of politics in which
native sons, or putra asli daerah, would be given preferential policy
positions over outsiders.84 Similarly, national level actors, including
bureaucrats and legislators, were opposed to the notion of regional pro-
liferation because of the potential ethnification and threat to Negara
84
Interview with Tommi Legowo, Head, Department of Politics and Social Change,
Center for Strategic and International Studies, Jakarta, 12 November 2004.
444 South East Asia Research
Kesatuan Republik Indonesia (NKRI), the concept of the Unitary
Republic of the Indonesian state. While these opponents of new prov-
ince creation also align vertically, they often do not pool resources or
work collaboratively to the same extent as their counterparts.
In sum, by positing the importance of territorial coalitions and alli-
ances, this argument avoids a long-running debate about whether
societal conflict in Indonesia is elite-led or bottom-up. Instead, an in-
stitutional approach looks at the way in which political changes gave
both societal groups and elites different kinds of interests and incen-
tives such that they decided to work together to create new territorial
boundaries. In other words, instead of arguing for an ‘either-or’
explanation, a territorial coalitions approach has examined how each
interacts with the other.
Implications for Indonesia’s local politics
Having discussed regional proliferation at some length, it is worth re-
flecting on how this issue can help us understand the changing nature
of Indonesian politics after the fall of the New Order. Some scholars
see Indonesia on a linear path of political development well on its way
to a modern democratic system.85 Others argue that Indonesia has be-
gun to consolidate from a dictatorship to an ‘oligarchy’ where the elites
have shifted but the people remain unempowered.86 Yet another inter-
pretation sees the importance of bossism in understanding the local
politics of Indonesia today.87
This article highlights the intense competitiveness of politics that
has emerged in Indonesia over the last decade. In fact, it is this com-
petitiveness at the national and local level, in Jakarta and in the regions,
that motivates the linkages highlighted in this article. Competitiveness
also goes beyond the simple question of whether Indonesia today is a
‘strong’ or ‘weak’ state. It is safe to say that the state in Indonesia is
not as strong as it used to be, but not as weak as, say, many African
85
Aris Ananta, Evi Nurvidya Arifin, and Leo Suryadinata, eds (2005), Emerging De-
mocracy in Indonesia, Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, Singapore.
86
Richard Robison, and Vedi Hadiz (2004), Reorganising Power in Indonesia, The
Politics of Oligarchy in an Age of Markets, RoutledgeCurzon, London.
87
John Thayer Sidel (1999), Capital, Coercion, and Crime Bossism in the Philippines,
East-West Center Series on Contemporary Issues in Asia and the Pacific, Stanford
University Press, Stanford, CA. See also Harriss, Stokke, and Tornquist (2004), Po-
liticising Democracy: the New Local Politics and Democratisation, International
Political Economy Series, Palgrave Macmillan, Basingstoke, and New York.
Territorial politics in post-Suharto Indonesia 445
states. Rather, it may be characterized as divided. While all states have
some fissures in them, Suharto’s New Order was remarkably resilient
in its ability to keep those internal rifts to a minimum.88
This new-found competitiveness manifests itself most clearly in the
conflict and competition between Indonesia’s political parties. During
the New Order era, President Suharto formed his own government party,
Golkar, and then effectively dismantled the remaining political parties.
Elections were thus uncompetitive, with the only real question the margin
of victory for Golkar. Today, Indonesia’s party system is vibrant and
highly competitive, if still uninstitutionalized.
Nor is this new-found competitiveness exclusive to the national
level. A second and burgeoning literature in Indonesian politics ex-
plores the rise of local politics.89 Moving from an authoritarian and
centralized regime to a democratic, decentralized system has had enor-
mous implications for the emergence of local political actors. Scholars
such as Okamoto and Ito have highlighted how local politics have
essentially been captured by elite actors.90 But with decentralization
has also emerged intense competition among political elites as well
as social actors. Again, elections highlight this competition between
elites at the local level, and this in turn is often accompanied by
societal level conflicts along lines of identity such as religion and/or
ethnicity.
Territory, I argue, is a critical component of this competitiveness.
The local, regional and national level actors have divergent but often
overlapping interests around territory. The competition at these dif-
ferent territorial levels induces the linkages that I have called territorial
coalitions. As groups seek to gain advantage at their particular level
of competition, they draw on the resources and strengths of actors
above and below them. I am arguing that this territorial change is a
manifestation of competition and specifically a result of the coalitions
and alliances that emerge in the context of intense competition at both
the national and local level.
88
To be sure, there were disagreements among key military elite. And as Suharto’s
base waned, it is now commonly accepted that Suharto looked towards other sources,
such as radicalized Islam, to strengthen his regime. But overall, the regime was solid
and unified relative to the intense competition today.
89
See Aspinall and Fealy, supra note 28; Choi, supra note 82; and Harriss, Stokke, and
Tornquist, supra note 87.
90
Masaaki Okamoto (2008), ‘An unholy alliance: political thugs and political Islam
work together in Banten’, Inside Indonesia, Vol 93, October.
446 South East Asia Research
Conclusions
To recap briefly, this article has suggested that there is method in the
madness of what seems to be a territorial free-for-all in post-Suharto
Indonesia. A new framework on territorial change emphasizes the im-
portance of territorial coalitions in which both national and regional
factors influence the ways actors think about provinces and how, under
certain conditions, enough actors’ interests can overlap to create coali-
tions in order to achieve the status of a new district or a new province.
Furthermore, this phenomenon is new and results from institutional
changes after the New Order.
A coalitional approach dispels the idea that this phenomenon is sim-
ply driven by national state interests or local agitation. Instead, it is the
marriage of the two through coalitions that have made these changes
possible. To be sure, triggers can come from either the national level or
the local level, depending on the particular regional context in which
territorial change is being proposed. But eventually there must be sup-
port beyond the single territorial level.
It is important to note that because of the weaknesses of existing
theoretical foundations, this framework has been constructed induc-
tively, looking closely at contrasting and comparing different
experiences. In this sense, it does not claim to explain all kinds of
proliferation everywhere. Seeing how well this framework works in
other contexts will require further research. However, given the exam-
ples explored in sample cases in Indonesia, this framework seems to
provide a more complete explanation of the phenomenon of provincial
proliferation. Examination of the phenomenon, moreover, provides
valuable insights into the changing character of central–regional rela-
tions in the world’s fourth most populous state.
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